


Save the Date

by renecdote



Series: hc_bingo 2017 [19]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Birthdays, Fluff, Gen, Learning to be Loved, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: She does not need a birthday.And yet, these people (thisfamily-herfamily?) are determined to give her one.





	Save the Date

**Author's Note:**

> For the “learning to be loved” square on my hurt/comfort bingo card. Thanks to @arsenicjade on tumblr who suggested the Batfam throwing a birthday for Cass. Retconning Batgirl #37 because DC retcons all the time so why can’t I.

Cass does not know how old she is. Age was never important with her father, except that she was a  _ child _ , a  _ little girl. _ Someone to be underestimated and overlooked. Someone nobody expected to be the secret weapon in the room. How many years she’d been alive was not relevant, only how many years until her training would be complete. Until she would become the ultimate weapon.

It’s not like that anymore.

Barbara wants to know how old she is, when she was born, what her birthday is. Cassandra can only shake her head. She does not know, never bothered to know. It didn’t matter before, why does it have to matter before? She does not need a birthday.

And yet, these people (this  _ family - her _ family?) are determined to give her one.

Bruce doesn’t ask, he just thinks. Thinks that she was eight when she ran away. That she was seventeen when she took up the Batgirl mantle. That she will turn eighteen this year. And she doesn’t know whether he shared his theories with the rest of the family, but they all seem to be on the same page about it. 

“But I don’t know,” she tries to tell Batman while he’s editing her file. What she means is:  _ I don’t understand why it matters so much. _

He tilts his head towards her. It’s weird, almost like a smile. “That’s okay,” he replies. “We’ll find you one.”

(Project: Give Cassandra a Birthday is a go.)

—

It’s the thirteenth of February and there is a cupcake sitting on her bedside table. No note, no explanation, because she couldn’t read it even if there was one. Just the red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing and a pink fondant flower. 

Cass knows as soon as she bites into it that the cupcake is homemade. Light and fluffy, just the right amount of sweet. 

When she steps into the Clocktower later, she thanks Barbara with a hug. Shakes her head when Barbara pulls up her file.

“Nice,” Cass says. “But not… right.”

Barbara just smiles, shrugs a little. “Oh well. Maybe someone else will get it.”

—

It’s the sixth of May and there is a box balanced on her window sill. Flat, long, about half as wide as her hand. Black with a pale blue bow tied neatly around it. Cass stares at it curiously then goes to take a shower.

When she comes back, the box is still there. She picks it up and shakes it carefully. It doesn’t rattle or rustle or tinkle. 

The alarm on her window is still on, none of the locks in the apartment have been tampered with, and the security system didn’t register any threats. Cass smiles. Family, then.

It’s a bracelet. A thin, twisting silver chain studded with small black gems. It gleams against her wrists, catching the light when she turns her arm.  _ Pretty _ , she thinks. It will go perfectly with that dress she was planning to wear to the party on Saturday.

Two people helped her pick out that dress, so she has two suspects. A quick investigation of the jeweller’s mark on the clasp (and the price tag attached to his products) and she narrows it down to one.

“Keep it,” Tim says when she tries to give the gift back. “Even if it’s not your birthday, it was a present so it’s yours now.”

_ Yours _ . Before she came to Gotham, Cass didn’t have a lot of things that were hers. She tucks this one away somewhere special, somewhere nobody can find it and take it away. Because it’s  _ hers _ . And that’s more special than any day it was given to her on is.

—

It’s the twenty-second of June and there is an envelope on her pillow. It has her name written on it in scrawling cursive across the white front, the back sealed with a glittery sticker of a cake. Slitting the envelope carefully with a knife, she pulls out a card. Bright and colourful, with another cake on the front.

She opens it to a short message -  _ Happy Birthday, Cass! _ \- that she doesn’t need to read because the card starts singing. It’s cheesy and out of tune, a recording of Steph’s voice singing the birthday song. It makes Cass giggle. The card gets put, pride of place, on the shelf above her bed.

She finds Stephanie on patrol that night. Shakes her head between knocking thugs out and says, “Not my birthday.”

“Damn,” Steph says, but she’s grinning, not sounding too disappointed. “I had fifty bucks riding on today.”

“Who?”

A solid punch and the last guy goes down. Steph begins tying him up with rope. “Jason,” she says. 

Cass grins. “Never bet against Jason.”

She’s curious to see which date he put his own money on. 

—

“What about the eleventh of August?” Alfred suggests. He’s peering at the label on the back of a tea canister.

Cass thinks about it, closes her eyes and lets the warmth of the morning sun sink into her bones. The sound of birds outside the window. The promise of a storm to break the heat wave later in the day.

She shakes her head. “No.”

Alfred hums. He spoons some of the tea into the pot. “That’s too bad,” he says, turning to her with twinkling eyes. “I already baked a cake.”

Cass grins. As if there needs to be a reason to eat cake.

—

It’s the first of October and there is a party hat on the display stand where her costume goes. Cass picks it up curiously, turning it around and upside down. It’s cardboard, shiny blue, with a black tangle of ribbon on top. Nightwing colours.

She smiles. Puts her uniform on the stand and puts the hat on her head.

“Good guess,” she tells Dick when she finds him in the laundry room, a matching gold and black party hat on his head. Batgirl colours.

“Not today either?” he checks, sprinkling washing powder over his suit and closing the machine. “You sure? I can see you as a fall baby.”

“I’m sure,” Cass says, thinking of leaves that crunch beneath her feet and wind that tangles her hair.

Dick insists on keeping his plans for the rest of the night though. They drink hot cocoa then curl up on the couch and watch Disney movies until the sun starts to peek over the horizon. Cass wears her party hat the whole time.

—

It’s the seventeenth of November and Cass is eating ice cream at the top of the Sprang Bridge. Jason is sitting beside her, his own two scoops of neapolitan almost gone. A small gift bag is dangling from his other hand, tauntingly just out of her reach while he makes her guess what’s in it.

“Kitten,” she says, having moved past all serious guesses and into the ridiculous.

“Nope.”

“Ferrari?”   
  
“Too big.’

“Keys to a ferrari?’

Jason snorts. “No. Although…. it’s not too late to take one of B’s cars for a joyride. I might even let you drive, since it’s your birthday.”

Cars rush by below them, the city is a sprawling mass of lights to either side. Cass swings her legs a little, turning her head so the breeze blows strands of her hair back from her face. It’s a good night. Quiet. Nice. Fun eating ice cream and being up here with her brother. 

But. 

“Not today,” she says. Nudges him a little.

Jason leans into her nudge and they end up staying that way, shoulders pressed against each other, as they finish their ice creams. “What if it’s already passed it?” he asks. “What if we’re all wrong?”

Cass shrugs. “Try again next year.”

A flash of teeth as Jason turns to face her, swinging the gift bag around one finger. “Guess I’ll keep this for next time, then.”

Cass waits until they’re back on solid ground to tackle him.

The present is a Batgirl plush toy. 

\--

It’s the third of December and there is a package on her tiny table. A present. Soft and vaguely square, done up in glossy green paper, one of those shiny ribbon decorations stuck to it. There’s no card or note, but she knows who it’s from as soon as she tears it open.

A soft sweater falls out, black except for the white face of a cat on the front.  _ Purr-fect,  _ it says below that. Cass wears it to the Manor for dinner that night and waits beside the doorway, like a cat, to pounce when Damian walks into the dining hall. 

“Cain!” he shouts, struggling in her hug, but his efforts are half-hearted.

Cass kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”   


“So I was right?” he asks, sounding pleased beneath the tone of haughty satisfaction.

“No,” Cass says. “But thank you.”

Damian huffs, scowling, but beneath it he still looks a little pleased. Cass makes sure to tell everyone how much she loves her new jumper.

—

_ The people on the TV are singing and cheering, clapping and laughing, as one of them sucks in a huge breath to blow out the candles on a cake. They had jumped up with joyous exclamations when the one with the cake entered the room. He had been shocked, but happy. And she’d tensed when someone flicked on a lighter and someone else brought out a gleaming knife, thought the happiness was going to be over, but the happiness had grown. A song had been sung, photos taken, and now the cake is being sliced and handed around to all the people. _

_ “What,” she says, pointing at the screen, using her newfound words to ask what the people are doing.  _

_ Barbara hasn’t really been watching, too busy with whatever she’s doing on her laptop, but she looks up now. “It’s a birthday party,” she says. And then, when Cassandra still looks blank, “Family and friends come together to celebrate you becoming older. It’s like… showing someone you love them and you’re happy they made it through another year.”  _

_ She goes on to talk about milestones and traditions and surprise parties, but Cass has stopped listening. Her eyes are transfixed to screen where the people - family and friends - are still smiling and chatting as they eat the cake.  _

—

It’s the twenty-sixth of January and Cass is cold. Cold and tired and grumpy as she pulls into the Cave and strips out of her costume.  _ A quick snack _ , she thinks,  _ and then bed _ . Nothing sounds more inviting than the thick comforter and mountain of blankets waiting for her upstairs.

She steps into the kitchen and flicks on the light. It is quarter past four in the morning. Cass is not expecting another person to be in the kitchen, let alone  _ all  _ the people.

“Happy birthday!” They yell, throwing streamers and blowing party horns. Dick and Steph and Barbara. Tim and Bruce and Alfred. Jason and Damian and even Titus. All standing around grinning at her. Cass smiles back reflexively.

There is a cake on the table. Something dark with cream and cherries. Cass is gently pushed toward it and a knife placed in her hand. 

“Make a wish,” Dick tells her. 

Cass closes her eyes. A wish? What could she wish for? She has friends and family and love and safety. She helps others. She’s happy. 

_ I wish…. _

She opens her eyes. No. She doesn’t need to make a wish. She has everything she could possibly want.

“Happy birthday to me,” she murmurs as she cuts into the cake. And this time… this time it feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is [here](tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


End file.
